Unerring Opinions
by Zeroninety
Summary: Richard Xanthos is one of the world's foremost philanthropists and deviser of unusual contests. But what happens when he falls for a famous young record company owner-Jerrica Benton?


Unerring Opinions

(All right belong to Hasbro, etc., blah blah blah).

* * *

Eric Raymond bores me.

"…And I can guarantee that the combination of a Misfits concert along with your contest promoting sharing and helping will be a surefire winner."

I sighed as I stepped up the ladder and grabbed a book from one of the highest shelves: Dostoyevsky's _The Idiot._

How utterly appropriate.

"Mr. Raymond," I asked him, as I pushed myself over to the east side shelves, "What, precisely, does your group know about sharing and helping?"

The man stammered for a moment. "Well…well, Mr. Xanthos…you see…sharing is the cornerstone of the Misfits'…uh, philosophy."

"Indeed," I nodded. "Can you give an example?"

The fun of being a wealthy man is the opportunities it gives to watch fools squirm to try and please you.

"Oh, yes, yes…they, uh…they _love _to provide meals to needy children. Children would go hungry without the help those lovely humanitarians are renowned for providing."

I smiled as I found the rare first edition I'd been searching for: _Pinocchio._

I pushed the ladder over to the nearest pole, where I grabbed hold and slid down to the floor. I took a moment to adjust my ascot as I turned to face my tiresome suitor. "Mr. Raymond, I have my doubts that your musical group would be of any benefit to my charitable work. The Xanthos Foundation has a good reputation, one that I've worked hard to earn. I would hate for anything to damage it."

He ran his fingers through his overly-moussed hair, before trying another tactic. "Xanthos, you know the Misfits are the hottest force on the charts…"

"Behind the Stingers, you mean?" I corrected him. "And Jem?"

He mumbled something I didn't catch, before he continued: "Once the Misfits play at your event, every newspaper and radio station in the country will feature the words 'sharing' and 'helping.' That's all that matters, isn't it?"

I rubbed my chin. "Sharing and helping are of prime concern to me, it's true."

The man smiled, baring his canine teeth. "And no one can spread the word about those things better than Stingers Sound and the promotional efforts I put behind the Misfits on a daily basis."

I had to smile. There's something to be said for persistence, even when it's foolish and doomed to fail.

"Mr. Raymond," I asked, as I placed the books on my desk, "do you know the story of my grandfather, Ari Xanthos?"

Raymond scowled. "Is this relevant at all?"

"When he came to this country, his shipping firm consisted of a single boat," I explained. "But, it was the best boat of its kind possible. That's what the name 'Xanthos' has always stood for: superior quality."

He grinned. "And that's what the Misfits stand for," he chuckled.

I folded my hands behind my back as I faced him. "Based on my previous experiences, I would use a few other words to describe them, Mr. Raymond."

He shrugged. "Well, no one's perfect."

I nodded as I walked over to him and looked him in the eye. "Perhaps not. But I know my opinions of them are correct and justified."

There's something amusing about watching a man back down when he knows he's been beaten.

A few judicious words are far more satisfying weapons than fists or guns could ever be.

"I'd still like a chance to change your mind," Raymond mumbled.

"You may do whatever you like," I told him, as I turned my attention to my assistant, Christine, who had just joined us in the library. "But," I added over my shoulder, "I have another appointment at the top of the hour."

"I hope you'll reconsider," the music executive said. "We stand to make _tons_ of money…for charity, of course."

I gave Christine a quick wink. "Of course."

She gave me a lopsided grin in return as Eric Raymond left the room. "He doesn't take no for an answer, does he?"

"It seems not," I sighed. "I had assumed my reputation for firm decisiveness had become a given in this town."

She nodded softly. "Some people can be blind to what's staring them in the face, Mr. Xanthos."

I checked on my books again and made a mental note to perform a thorough re-cataloging of the mansion's library. "Hmm? Oh, has there been any word yet?"

Christine answered in a monotone. "Yes, Miss Benton called to say she'll be here shortly."

"Ah, marvelous news!" I moved over to the ornate, eighteenth-century French mirror my mother had left me, and checked to make sure my mustache didn't have a single hair out of place.

My heart began to race.

Each time I saw the beautiful young Jerrica Benton, it raced a little more.

I'd barely noticed her when we first met, but as the last few years had passed, I'd come to see what a kind, intelligent, warm, and charming woman she was.

A woman with a boundless capacity for friendship and goodwill.

Each time I saw her, she grew more beautiful than the last.

Nearly giddy, I announced, "Let me know when she arrives." Christine nodded and left without another word.

I headed up to my office and straightened out my files before the meeting with Jerrica. I took a quick glance out the window, where the actors I'd hired prepared for the human chess game I would be holding on the lawn in a few days.

Officially, the game would be to raise funding for afterschool extracurricular programs.

Mostly though, I just enjoyed the idea of ordering around people in stupid-looking chess piece costumes. There's a certain satisfaction to be found in knowing you have that kind of power.

Perhaps Jerrica would enjoy watching the game. I might even let her make a move or two.

I already knew her to be a smart, fun-loving woman-of course she'd enjoy the game!

I smooth out the wrinkles in my smoking jacket and grinned at myself at the mirror. "You're a lucky man, Richard," I said aloud. "She's the one—I know it."

* * *

"I'm impressed, Mr. Xanthos! How did you convince so many companies to sponsor the event?"

Jerrica Benton brushed her soft, blonde hair from her shoulders as she examined the status report on the sharing and helping contest, while I savored the beautiful sight before me.

"Well, one tactic I've learned is to ensure that as many people owe you a favor as possible," I told her. "You never know when they'll come in handy."

When you move in the circles I move in, you meet gorgeous women on a daily basis. Indeed, all the pretty faces and pneumatic bodies tend to blend together after a while.

Jerrica could hardly be any more unique. Beautiful, certainly, but also mature well beyond her years. A skilled businesswoman, but also a kind-hearted philanthropist. A warm-hearted girl who radiates goodwill, but also firm in her beliefs.

And, of course, a talented actress who had been living a double life for nearly five years.

I could never quite figure out how she pulled it off, but I had no doubt the two women were one and the same.

It hadn't taken me long to see through her façade. It surprised me, though, that no one else seemed to…not even the purple-haired fellow who she'd finally parted ways with.

Every day, I expected to pick up the paper and read the news that Jerrica had revealed the truth about Jem, but it never came.

Still, if she wanted to keep the game going, I wouldn't be the one to blow the whistle.

I love a good game.

"You've outdone yourself with these plans," she said, with a toothy smile. "I'm vurry confident Jem and the Holograms will be thrilled to participate in this new contest."

I grinned at the adorable way she always pronounces "very." If I didn't know better, I'd assume she spent some of her childhood in England—perhaps even South Africa.

She had been charming enough, but hardly memorable, when we first met, the time I held a treasure hunt to encourage literacy. But each subsequent time our paths crossed, I found myself drawn to her more and more…

"I'm pleased to hear it," I told her. "Any Xanthos Foundation event involving Jem is a guaranteed success."

Jerrica nodded, though I found myself distracted by a glimpse of her toned thighs as she shifted in her chair. "Well, it won't be _quite _that simple," she said. "There's still a great deal of work to be done."

I tapped my fingers together and did my best to project an air of thoughtful contemplation. "I have an excellent team. Christine is an old pro at putting these events together. But, if you have any ideas, I'm sure she'll be happy to listen."

Jerrica's soft blue eyes gleamed under the wide brim of her hat. "Well, I'd be vurry happy to help any way that I can…I just hope I wouldn't be imposing."

I chuckled as I waved her concerns away. "Nonsense. I'm…we're lucky to have any assistance you can offer."

She let out a tiny laugh. "You're a charmer, Mr. Xanthos."

I leaned back slightly in my chair as I clasped my hands together. "Please, I've told you a number of times, just call me plain, old Richard."

Something about my words sent up a flag in my mind. "Well, maybe not 'old.' The men in my family all went gray quite young, you see."

She smiled politely, as I tried to figure out what on earth possessed me to say such a ridiculous thing. I let out a small, strangled laugh as my nerves suddenly overtook me.

_Easy now…you're Richard Xanthos, a man of unparalleled taste and wisdom. She's just one woman…just one beautiful, smart, classy, kind, caring, sweet, sexy woman._

Damnation! Why doesn't this get any easier with time?

She smiled. "The other day, Jem told me she found a few gray hairs in her brush." She put her finger to her lips. "Don't tell anyone."

_Always playing the game, eh?_

What a fascinating woman…

I leaned forward and asked her, "Perhaps we could retire to the gardens and enjoy some lunch there? I'll have Christine tell the chef to prepare something special."

"Well," Jerrica said, as she bit her lip, "I do have a vurry busy schedule today…"

"Oh, it would only be for a short time, as we go over a few more details," I explained. "And how often do you get a chance to enjoy lunch outside on such a lovely day?"

She glanced at the ceiling for a moment as she hummed out a short breath. "Not too often, I've got to admit. When I'm at Starlight House, it's such a struggle to make enough lunch for all the girls, that I'm lucky to grab a quick sandwich. And at Starlight Records, it's easier to just grab something from the commissary."

I leaned back in triumph. "See? I forbid you to pass up this opportunity."

Jerrica let out a laugh. "Ok, Mr. Xanthos. Show me the way."

I stood and gestured to the door. As we began to leave, I held out my arm for her to take. She hesitated, before she finally accepted.

I kept glancing over at this girl on my arm—this young woman who suited me perfectly, in so many ways—and before ever setting foot outside, I already knew it to be a beautiful day.

* * *

There's nothing quite like sitting under a tree on your estate with a beautiful woman next to you, eating brisket sandwiches as your jester entertains you.

I noticed a worried look cross Jerrica's face. "Something the matter?" I asked.

She pointed to the midget doing somersaults on the lawn before us. "Who _is_ he?"

I grinned. "Gregor? Oh, I'm sure you've seen him before. He's worked for me for years, performing for my guests."

Jerrica looked down at knees. "I don't know, it seems kind of…exploitative."

I felt the wind seep out of me as I struggled to find the words that would turn this setback around. "Well," I choked out, "I'm quite lucky to have him. He's always been in high demand."

Her light blue eyebrows arched softly. "Really? I didn't know."

Gregor performed a backflip, and doffed his cap to us. I gave him some vigorous applause, and Jerrica soon joined in.

As she took a bite of her lunch, I noticed how the leaves above us caused little dapples of sunlight to appear on her skin. I sighed in satisfaction at my good fortune.

"Jerrica?" I asked, as the mood of the moment went to my head, "What do you think love is?"

With her sandwich in hand, she held her mouth open for several moments. "That's an interesting question, Mr. Xan—Richard." She put down her lunch and wiped her hands. "I think a vurry crucial part is being there for someone, helping them, without any expectation of anything in return."

"Interesting," I told her. "I'd say that's a well thought-out explanation."

She grinned as she leaned back against the trunk of the tree. "Are you planning a new contest? One about the importance of love?"

"Perhaps I should," I nodded, as Gregor did his hand walking routine. "I have a rather different sort of contest in mind."

Jerrica furrowed her brow. "Would this have something to do with the people I saw dressed like chess pieces?"

I laughed, until I saw the worried look on her face. I had no idea what it meant, and decided I'd rather not know. "Oh, I almost forgot." I reached into the basket I'd brought the lunches in, and pulled out three fine old volumes. "For your girls. Any time is a good time to introduce them to classic literature."

Her jaw dropped as I handed the books to her. "Mr. Xa-Richard, I don't know what to say." She opened up the top book—_Little Women_-and gasped. "A first edition?"

"Naturally," I smiled, as I popped open a bottle of champagne.

As she flipped through that book and the other two-_Emma_ and _The Count of Monte Cristo_-she made little asides like, "I loved this one when I was a girl," and "I know they haven't read this one yet!"

Finally, Jerrica beamed at me. "Thank you, Mr. Xanthos, so vurry much. My girls will love these."

In my typically humble way, I brushed off the thanks. "The pleasure is all mine," I told her, as I handed her a glass of champagne. "You repay me by gracing me with your presence."

I know I detected a blush. "You're a charmer, Mr…Richard."

"I hope I am," I smiled. "I think I could happily spend my life charming you, my dear Jerrica."

Only then did the smile fade from her lips.

Only then did the warmth seep from her eyes. For the first time, I saw them take on a cold aspect.

A look I'd seen before. No doubt, a look I'd given before.

But in the love-addled fog I'd been in, I'd never once imagined I'd see that look on her.

"Mr. Xanthos…"

"Richard," I reminded her.

"Richard," she told me, her voice soft, but her eyes firm. "I think maybe there's been a misunderstanding."

I slid my hands into the pockets of my smoking jacket. "Gregor!" I shouted, "We require some privacy!"

My jester doffed his cap. "Yes sir, Mr. Xanthos." He ran back to the house, leaving the sound of jingling bells in his wake.

I cleared my throat. "So…you were saying, Jerrica?"

"Mr. Xanthos-"

"Richard," I told her, in a whisper.

Then, with as much kindness as she could muster, she tried to let me down easy.

I don't remember any of our words from that point on. Words are irrelevant in moments like those.

It's the eyes I remember. Big, bright blue eyes, telling me I'm a fool-a good fool, a fool she cares about, but a fool just the same.

* * *

As I slunk back to the library, I heard Christine's heels clip across the tile floor of the hallway. "Mr. Xanthos?"

"Hold all my calls," I barked out, "and cancel my appointments this afternoon."

"Sir?" I heard a hint of concern in her voice.

"Please, do this for me," I added, softly, as I closed the door to the library behind me.

I paced and paced for hours, trying to figure where I'd gone wrong, dissecting every possible mistake I'd made.

At one point, a devious thought crossed my mind: perhaps it was time the world finally learned the truth about Jem's mysterious identity.

Perhaps she'd learn just what a mistake she'd made…

I fought to push the thought away.

That's not selflessness.

That's not goodwill.

That's not me.

Finally, I scoured the shelves, searching for the titles that popped to mind: _Cyrano de Bergerac; Middlemarch; Great Expectations._

I read until I fell asleep at my desk.

* * *

"I assure you, Mr. Xanthos, these projections from the consulting group are airtight," Eric Raymond asserted. "They agree with me: the Misfits performing at the concert would double the revenue for your _worthy_ charity."

I'd spent the last few days pondering how badly I'd misread every moment of my interactions with Jerrica since the day I first met her.

Just how little about women did I really understand?

How little about life did I really know?

I understand books, and smoking jackets, and playing games.

Is that all Richard Xanthos is?

"Mr. Xanthos, am I boring you?" Raymond asked.

"Utterly," I grumbled, but he didn't seem to hear me.

"As I was saying, Pizzazz couldn't be more thrilled about this contest. She's even offered to have the Misfits write a brand new song promoting sharing and helping—in their inimitable style, of course."

"Oh, of course," I nodded, as I thought of Jerrica…

_She's too young, you know,_ I reminded myself. _May-September romances rarely work out._

_And all those children—sure, bringing them onto the property for a contest or a benefit is no problem, but dealing with them underfoot every single day? That might tax even my reserves of amiability._

_Besides, she could have her choice of any number of rock and roll singers and musicians. I might be well-read with a fine mustache and excellent taste in loafers, but I can hardly hope to compete with men like those._

I told myself all sorts of things to make her rejection easier…

_Damnation._

"And I'm certain, with your support, the Misfits' Sharing and Helping Festival will be the media event of 1990."

"Are you finished," I muttered.

"So, what do you think, Mr. Xanthos?" Raymond's sly smile nearly dripped from his face like melting wax.

"Mr. Raymond," I sighed. "I've had enough of you. Leave, and don't come back."

He continued to smile. "Xanthos, you could be passing up a goldmine. If only you'll-"

I jumped to my feet and screamed in his face. "I'm not asking you, damn it, I'm telling you! Get out of here! Now!"

He backed away from me so fast he tripped over his feet and tumbled to the floor.

Raymond looked up at me for a moment, his eyes pleading.

I pointed to the door. "Don't make me call the police," I warned him.

"All right, all right!" he gasped, as he crawled on his hands to the door, and into the hallway.

I slumped into my office chair and placed my head in my hands, as I tried to decide if I regretted having ever seen Jerrica's face.

* * *

A little later, I sat at the window and watched my human chess players in action, as they practiced moving across the board erected for them on the lawn.

The next day, people of all sorts would be on my estate, watching me order the pieces around—I would play white, as always, and our special guest, Governor Duke, would play black.

I smiled in anticipation. There's something wonderfully satisfying about making the pieces move precisely where I want them to go—and the queen never decides she'd rather not play on your chessboard.

I heard a buzz on my intercom. "Mr. Xanthos?"

"Come in, Christine," I replied. I returned my attention to the actors outside, as Gregor, dressed as a pawn, put them through their paces.

Christine tapped my on the shoulder. "Starlight Music called to let you know Jem and the Holograms have some open days in August if you're still interested in setting up a benefit."

I nodded. "Let Jerrica know her offer…let her know it's appreciated, and I'll keep it in mind."

"Yes, Mr. Xanthos."

As she began to walk away, I asked her, "Am I just kidding myself, Christine?"

"Sir?"

I swiveled around and faced her. "Reading…benefits…friendship and goodwill…does any of it make any difference? Am I just wasting my time?"

She gave me a smile. "I think you do a lot of good, sir. I know there are those who are deeply…impressed, by you and what you do."

I didn't quite know what to say, so I told her, "Thank you."

"I'm about to head home for the day," she told me, "Do you need anything else done?"

I shook my head as I turned back to the window. "No, I'm fine. Have a good evening."

Behind me, I heard her walk back to the desk. "I almost forgot-I borrowed a book from your library. I should return it before I forget again."

"That's fine," I said. "Just leave it there."

A few minutes later, after Christine had left, and the chess pieces dispersed for the evening, I turned to the desk and found my first edition of _Jane Eyre._

I picked it up and thumbed through it, as I tried to recall the last time I'd read it—ten years? No, fifteen?

Suddenly, the meaning hit me. I let out a laugh, and I couldn't stop.

_Well played, Christine. It's still too soon—Jerrica still fills my thoughts-but well played, indeed._

I opened the book to Chapter One and began reading.

* * *

(This story hasn't been beta tested-so, if you don't like it, that's the reason!)


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